


Memories

by OpheliacOfCamelot



Series: The Tudor Court-Hetalian Drabbles [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, The Tudors (TV), Tudor History - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Conversation between two nations, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, M/M, Mourning, Slight maybe SpUk depending on how you want to see it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 08:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliacOfCamelot/pseuds/OpheliacOfCamelot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katherine of Aragon has passed away, the once Infanta of Spain, that Spain himself left to England's care under his wing. But her demise wasn't exactly pleasant, or decent, or even dignified.<br/>Antonio visits her grave and finds Arthur already there, and so he confronts him about everything that happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Pre Reading A/N: Drabble longer than the first, this is basically Spain and England mourning and remembering Katherine. It was too sweet of an opportunity to let pass, and I have to admit even though this is supposed to be a part of the Tudor Court drabbles.. These two Europeans babies are getting their own series because the way their royals interacted during Tudor times is too much to convey in one short writing (plus.. this isn’t as SpUk-tastic as I intended it to be). Once again, sorry for any OOCness. Without further a do, I hope you lot enjoy it!

The funeral was not fit for a Queen, she was not a Queen, she had never been Henry’s true wife in the eyes of God. Everything about this was wrong but in the end he signed the oath. May God forgive him, surely it is not a mystery that even if he wanted, and he would without a doubt, Henry cannot murder him permanently. As a country it is safe it say he is immortal so long as his citizens live and proudly proclaimed themselves to be English citizens, but he highly questioned just what methods Henry might use to force him to sign. Torture, imprisonment, murder of his beloved citizens? All of it, nothing was below the tyrant who threatened to kill his own daughter for refusing to act against her conscience and not willing to write down her name on an oath that would make her mother a whore.

“England?” A soft voice with a thick Spanish accent called out to him, his heart seemed to jump out of his chest, that accent. For the smallest of seconds all that came to his mind was Katherine calling out to him in the mornings after a night of drinking with Henry.

_“Mijo… time to wake up… Inglaterra, levantate.”_

“Arturo?” In a similar manner he was called out again. When he turned around, he was met by another pair of green eyes. “

“Antonio-”

“Is this where she rests?”

“Yes…”

Spain had been on his way since Catalina was reported worriedly sick, he had hoped he would be there in time to speak up to the newly made head of church to argue against her treatment, or at least see her alive once more. He could recall so clearly… When she left him she was but a young girl who did not know a drop of English, let alone be able to foresee her faith, but her determination and evident strength told him she would make him proud. Indeed she did, and she did not deserve to have ended like this.. Not his Infanta, not Catalina..

_“Vos esta nerviosa, Princesa Catalina? (Are you nervous, Princess Katherine?)”_

_She gave him a radiant smile, but her eyes reflected she was weary, in the end she admit so in a soft voice. “Un poco… España.. Vos cree que sere una buena reina? (A little… Spain.. Do you think I’ll be a good Queen?)”_

_He grinned at her and got down on one knee, bowing lowly as if she was his own Queen, “La mejor. (The best.)” The young girl smiled with relief at her Kingdom, “Gracias. (Thank you)”_

_The Spanish man’s head perked up when one maid walked by to announce that Lady Pole would be meeting with her soon. The Princess stood up and straightened out her dress, her back straight, her gaze firm and determined, to make a good impression, to not melt under the pressure, and to hopefully not gain the hate of that woman whose brother was ordered to death in condition to her arrival._

_When the woman entered the room, Katherine in the end had no need for her translator, she spoke fluidly in Latin, Lady Pole seemed to fortunately comprehend the language and a conversation was set off. Antonio could only step back and smile, his Infanta had just arrived but she was already as independent as ever. He would surely miss her._

“Lo siento..” There came the apology in broken Spanish, the brunette looked at Arthur but was lost as to how to respond for a while, but then, he finally could utter out a word, another question. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you allow it?”

“Spain..”

“Don’t you Spain me- Don’t you even try to make up an excuse Arturo, I want to know, why?”

“There was nothing I could do-“

“I always knew you and France had a bond of love and hate I could not understand, but why would you let this happen? Arthur.. her heart was black. With sorrow, with heartbreak, she died worse than a said Princess Dowager. Your puta for a new Queen could have poisoned her for all I know!! She’s a witch!!” England only stood there and looked down, how could he argue against anything the Spaniard said? He wasn’t as fond of the Boleyn woman as to stand up and defend her.

“And don’t even get me started on Henry!!” He ran his fingers through his beloved Princess’ grave, “Bastardo..” He whispered, “She was worth more than he took her for.. Did she not give him an heir worthy of more than any boy? Were you not pleased she didn’t have a son too? Do you dislike Mary that much? Because- what’s her name- the little bastard.. Elizabeth. I was informed Henry went around parading her at Catalina’s funeral.” Arthur shook his head, he loved Katherine, he loved Mary, he loved them both with his life, and Henry had no justification for his atrocities. Neither did he for playing his King’s game he supposed. He should have spoken out more, he should have mentioned it more when they would drink ale during Friday nights, he should have gotten on his knees and begged the King with tears in his eyes like a peasant for Katherine. Antonio had all the right to punch him or do with him as he wished, but instead, the other Kingdom just seemed to collapse before his eyes as he allowed tears to run down his face and began praying in his native tongue.

Arthur could feel his own eyes water, but he had already cried enough for weeks, he could only close his eyes as he seemed to remember his true Queen like yesterday.

_“Mijo… Time to wake up... Inglaterra, levantate.” The blonde groaned and buried himself deep within the covers, what was she even doing here? Was she in his bedchamber, or just outside? Either way her voice was irritably loud, or irritably close, or maybe /he/ was just irritable, it just had to do with his hangover. Hm… Yeah, that was probably it. Suddenly, it wasn’t only a voice, it was knocking, at least he knew she was outside. “Mgh?” He asked, or more like, in his gibberish way asked who it was, and why he was being disturbed._

_He already knew, but his thoughts were only confirmed with that chuckle that came from outside. “England, my Lord husband is looking for you.”_

_“Tell His Majesty I am in a comatose.” He responded, about ready to go back to sleep when suddenly, his door burst open._

_“Arthur! For Pete’s sake, it’s 2 in the afternoon! Up! Up! Up!” Arthur nearly screamed in shock at the intrusion, this was not Katherine. The teenage nation sat up to find his King as joyful, and evidently noisy as ever. “But Henry…” He did not tend to address his rulers by their birth names, or at least did so as often as they addressed him by his human name, but Henry was different, and he wasn’t sure if in a good or a bad sense. He took him as serious as you can take a pretender to the throne, but this man wasn’t a pretender, it was more along the lines that him and Arthur spend so long playing sports and games together that at certain times they both seemed to forget their positions. Treating each other as if they were simple friends at court having a good time. Ah, yes, Henry was different from his father, very much different._

_“I will not hear any of it! The sun has risen and so shall you!” The man patted Arthur’s back in his excitement a bit too strongly, the nation could not for his life figure out what had him as happy, and he wanted nothing more than to lay back down and return to court in a week. However, as obstinate as Henry was, possibilities that his King would allow that were small to none. “Alright, alright, I’m up.” He said with his I-don’t-want-to-do-this face, which only seemed to create a giggle from his Queen who had been watching at the door._

_Arthur’s scowl turned to her, “What?”_

_“Nothing,” She said with a musical tone to her voice, the redheaded sovereign turned to his wife and kissed her before gently brushing his fingers over her stomach and motioning her out to leave the two be, as the English personification was shirtless, and well, the Tudor was a rather jealous man. She smiled at her husband and mouthed a, “Te amo.” Proceeding to wave at her Kingdom and walk back into the hallway._

Those were happier times, easier times, better times. Before Katherine had miscarriages, before Henry met Anne Boleyn, before Mary became a grim reminder to her father of just how much he had hurt his first wife. It were the times of jousting, card games, balls, and everything a stable, joyful Kingdom should be. Arthur thought the conspiracy fears and paranoia were done upon the first Tudor’s death, but how wrong he was.

Now he could only watch with sorrow as the most powerful Kingdom in the world seemed to break before him, just as he had not too long ago. He reached out and rubbed his elder’s back, knowing nothing he could say or do would account for what had been done to someone Spain had without doubt watched come into this world, grow up into a beautiful young woman, and then, fall with there being absolutely nothing he could do.

“And… Mary?” There came a choked question,

“… I will do everything in my reach to assure her well being.” Was that good enough of an answer he wondered? With the Boleyn whore around, he couldn’t say, but.. Even so, Mary was his by birth, and Spain’s, she was theirs.

“Arthur I implore you, promise me she will be okay.” The Britton nodded, with determination in his face, if he had to walk to the block or have his limbs torn he gladly would allow so, so long as Mary was fine. There was an emotion in the Spaniard’s eyes that England simply could not figure out, hurt was gone, hate was gone, anger was gone, it was close to sorrow, yet far. Then, Arthur felt Antonio hug him as the elder continued to mourn, England had not noticed but he had begun crying too. They stood there, in a position that would earn scolding from both of their bosses. They were nations, centennial Kingdoms joint together in absolute hurt by the death of one woman that apparently was not even a Queen, merely a Princess to them both by questionable legality.

In any other occasion, their prides would have surfaced and the two would walk away before a tear was shed, but perhaps this one time it would be alright.

Some time later they met again, on an occasion that was meant to be much merrier. Mary I of England was marrying Phillip II of Spain. Another Anglo-Spanish marriage, meant to intertwine their lineages and family. But as they smiled at each other from opposite sides of the place, evident worry appeared in their green eyes. Mary was in love beyond words, Phillip… not so much. This was bound to bring another tragedy but monarchies are what they are. No one ever said fate was fair, did they?

**Author's Note:**

> Post-reading A/N: I’m kind of proud and kind of not over this, it isn’t what I expected it to be. Yet, I wasn’t sure what it was even supposed to be XD I promise SpUk in a future drabble- that I’ll get to once I stumble upon inspiration. As you might have noticed, this one differentiates in the sense it is not very sympathetic to Anne Boleyn because, well, she was no saint. Sorry to anyone that loves her, I love her too, but any names she was called is mostly resentment and prejudices going around at the time. So please leave Kudos, it would make Opheliac very happy! :3


End file.
